


when the lights come on (i'll be ready for this)

by KelseyO



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Gay Bar, faberrycon fic fundraiser, girls being dumb, sequel to 'don't be scared if you know'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a few weeks post-Talk and Quinn's got nothing to show for it, too scared of being in over her head to officially make a move on Rachel. What will it take to get her to understand her own feelings? A night out at a gay bar, perhaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the lights come on (i'll be ready for this)

**Author's Note:**

> FaberryCon Fic Fundraiser fill for Amy, whose prompt was "post-high school Quinn angst". Sequel to "don't be scared if you know".

“Oh good, you’re here.”  Santana takes Quinn’s bag and flings it behind her into the apartment, then grips her by the shoulders and turns her around. “Walk,” she instructs.

Quinn glances over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Anywhere in particular?”

“That way,” Santana replies, pointing vaguely toward the stairwell at the end of the hall as she pulls the door closed behind them.

“Seriously, what’s going on?  Where’s—?”

“Rachel and Dani,” Santana interrupts, leading Quinn back down to the first floor, “are waiting for us at a bar a few blocks away.”

Quinn frowns and shoves through the door that Santana doesn’t hold for her. “Whose idea was that?  Rachel hates bars.”

“Not as much as she hates indecisive queer girls who won’t just freaking make out with her,” Santana replies sweetly, pulling her across the street, and the taxis ready to run her over are the only reason why Quinn doesn’t stop in her tracks.

“How is that any of your business?” she snaps even as her face heats up, because she knows things have been weird between her and Rachel lately, but she never thought… she just figured…

“It’s my business,” Santana replies, “because the only thing more exhausting than watching you and Berry not date is watching you and Berry not _not_ date, and my girlfriend and I are sick of you two acting like Shonda Rhimes was feeling particularly sadistic when she wrote your storyline.”

Anger flares in Quinn’s stomach and she’s so focused on the idea of having a throwdown right here on the sidewalk that she almost trips on the curb. “So you’re dragging us to a bar which obviously has magic tequila that helps people sort out their feelings.  That the plan?” She hears Santana bark out laugh but receives to response otherwise, and soon she’s being pulled around the corner and into a building and is immediately engulfed in a sea of loud voices and pounding music.

Her first thought is to wonder how the hell they’re going to find Rachel and Dani in this crowd, but Santana seems to have her own ideas about that as well. She leads Quinn through the mess of people until they reach a small table in the back where Dani’s sitting alone, finishing off a glass of god knows what, and there’s no sign of Rachel aside from her phone sitting next to a bowl of pretzels.

Quinn glances around as Santana leans over to give Dani a peck on the lips. “Where’s—?”

“Dancing,” Dani replies, nodding her head toward the middle of the room. “We were barely here five minutes before someone snagged her.”

Santana gestures for a waitress to bring her a drink. “Probably a fellow thesbian. They can spot their kind from a mile away.”

Quinn arches an eyebrow as she sinks into the chair next to her.  “You mean ‘thespian’?”

“No, I mean _thesbian_ ,” Santana says as if she can’t believe she has to explain herself. “Thespian lesbian; a theater gay. Jesus, what do they even teach you at Yale?”

Quinn rolls her eyes and tries to ignore the new feeling in her stomach, one that’s not quite anger but still has her nibbling her bottom lip as she peers into the mass of dancing bodies, wondering what Rachel might be doing with that girl right now.

“I’ll be right back,” Quinn mutters, though she’s not sure if anybody even hears her over the music, then slips away from the table and heads for the restroom. She turns on one of the faucets and splashes water on her face so her skin will finally cool down, tries to focus on breathing in and out instead of on Santana’s voice echoing through her head.

_“Not as much as she hates indecisive queer girls.”_

Quinn rubs her eyes hard and lets out a sharp sigh.  She honestly didn’t mean for things to get so messed up; the big talk they had a few weeks ago had felt comfortable and safe, but all it did was lay a painfully vague foundation for their relationship—friendship—whatever it is at this point. She knows it’s been hurting the both of them, because now Rachel hugs her like she’s afraid to let herself hold on for too long, and because Quinn can barely look her in the eye most of the time, but she’s scared to death that she’ll do something she’s not ready for.

Sure, sometimes she wants to hold Rachel’s hand while they’re walking down the street, and sometimes she wants to kiss her during their hellos and goodbyes… but what if she goes for it, and it doesn’t feel right? What if she’s completely misjudged her feelings, misjudged this whole thing?

All Quinn wants is to not hurt Rachel, but given the present circumstances, that seems damn near impossible.

She’s pulled from her thoughts by a muffled moan behind her, and when she glances in the mirror she sees two sets of feet in one of the stalls. She rolls her eyes and quickly dries her face with a paper towel, then gets out of there as fast as she can.

When she finds their table again, Rachel is back.

Rachel’s hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, her bangs messy and plastered with sweat, but as Rachel tips her head back to gulp down a glass of water, Quinn’s breath still catches in her throat.

“Hey, Rachel,” she says quietly as she takes a seat, trying not to stare at the tendons in Rachel’s neck.

She’s breathing heavily when she puts the water down.  “Hi,” she pants, throwing Quinn a small, brief smile before diving into the bowl of pretzels.

“So, what’s her name?” Santana asks playfully, dragging out the first word, then takes a long sip from her bright blue drink.

Rachel just blinks at her. “I beg your p—?” she begins, then flinches at something and sits up a little straighter. “Oh, right! Her name is Ashley.  She’s a great dancer, _really_ great dancer.” Rachel nods and crunches loudly on another pretzel.

“Oh come on, more details! Is she gonna come join us?” Dani asks with a grin.

Rachel blushes. “Unfortunately, no. She said she had to go—um—she said she had something,” she splutters.

Quinn fidgets with the corner of one of the menus on the table and tries to ignore the tightness in her chest. She doesn’t have the right to be upset about this, really, because she’s the one who’s refused to let anything progress. Maybe this is for the best; maybe Rachel _should_ date someone while Quinn sorts her own shit out—

“Good kisser, too,” Rachel blurts.

Suddenly, Quinn’s stomach is imploding.

“Attagirl,” Santana replies and clinks her glass against Rachel’s.

Quinn stares at each of them in turn, fuming over the idea of Rachel kissing someone she _just_ met. What does she even know about this girl? Is this who she is now, the type that launches herself into hookups without a second thought?

“So, how are classes going?”

It takes her a moment to realize Rachel’s asked her a question. “Um. Yeah, everything’s good. Yale is great,” she manages, wishing they didn’t have an audience right now, or maybe that they weren’t sitting in the middle of a fucking gay bar. “I’m sorry I haven’t—”

“Wait, she’s calling me!” Rachel squeals, glancing excitedly at her phone. “What could she possibly want to talk about? She _just_ left.”

“Only one way to find out,” Santana replies with a shrug.

Rachel beams. “I’ll be right back,” she says before getting up and scurrying away to find a quieter place to talk.

“So they exchanged saliva _and_ phone numbers,” Quinn snaps before she can stop herself. “Look at her _go_.”

“What was that?” Santana asks into her drink, though the smirk on her face says she heard exactly what Quinn said.

Quinn pushes her hair out of her face and tries not to look in the direction Rachel was heading. “Nothing.” She counts to five, then takes a deep breath in and out. “Aren’t you guys a little worried? I mean, who kisses someone ten minutes after they meet them? For all we know, she just wants to get into her pants. Rachel deserves better than that.”

Santana looks like she’s stifling a laugh and Dani a smile as she stares determinedly at her phone in her lap, as if this conversation isn’t important enough to warrant eye contact.

“How d’you know it’s not the other way around?” Dani asks.

“What do you mean?”

Dani shrugs. “Maybe Rachel kissed _her_. Maybe it’s Rachel who wants in the pants.”

Quinn shakes her head as images of Rachel with some anonymous feminine figure dance behind her eyes, and suddenly there’s a lump in her throat. “That’s not… she wouldn’t do that. She doesn’t hook up; she cares too much about feelings.” She winces the moment the last bit leaves her mouth, and the beat of silence that comes afterward is excruciating, even with the pounding music around them.

“You’re one to talk,” Santana replies with a snort.

“What does that even have to do with—?”

Santana cuts her off with a loud laugh and drains the rest of her glass. “You are literally the dumbest smart person I have ever met.”

Dani cocks her head, eyes narrowed at Santana. “Isn’t that from _I, Robot_?”

“Unimportant,” she says, dismissing the question with a wave of her hand. “Listen, Q—when you asked me for advice, I told you to talk to her and to give it a shot. Simple enough instructions, if I’m not mistaken,” she says, glancing to Dani, who nods. “As far as I can tell, you’ve been doing the exact _opposite_ of those two things.”

Quinn clenches her jaw. “You’re oversimplifying it.”

Santana quirks a challenging eyebrow. “Am I?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she practically shouts, all but exasperated at this point, but Santana doesn’t seem fazed in the least.

“Bull _shit_.”

Quinn crosses her arms over her chest so she won’t pitch the remainder of Rachel’s water into Santana’s face.

“Are you seriously gonna sit there seething about the thought of Rachel with another girl, and tell me you’re still not sure you want her?”

“Are _you_ seriously going to peg my anger on that, rather than on the fact that you won’t get out of my face about it?”

“Sure am,” Santana replies with a bite Quinn hasn’t heard since their sophomore year. “I’m only getting in _your_ face so you will finally, by some merciful act of God, understand how badly you want to make out with _Rachel’s_.”

Quinn props her elbows on the table and rubs her eyes hard, then leans back in her chair and lets her shoulders sag.

“Take it from a girl who gets what it’s like to only know what you feel for someone when they choose another person,” Santana continues, and her voice is softer now. “And who watched you mope for _months_ over Rachel being with Spudson.”

Quinn’s gaze snaps to Santana’s and her cheeks are burning again. She opens her mouth to argue, but she can feel her insides starting to crumble, and her lungs tire of objecting, and honestly… Santana is sounding less and less wrong with each sentence.

Dani leans toward Santana. “She stopped yelling. I think we’re making progress.”

“I just…” Quinn swallows hard. “I just don’t want to mess things up.”

“Babe, if that’s your philosophy, all you’re _gonna_ do is mess things up.”

She wets her lips and glances behind her, as if she’d be able to immediately spot Rachel. “Maybe I should go talk to her.”

“Oh, you think?” Santana deadpans.

Dani smacks her arm. “I think I saw her over by the jukebox.”

Quinn frowns. “Why would she stand next to a jukebox if she’s trying to talk on the phone?”

“Trust me on this one,” she replies with a wink.

Quinn glances between them, trying to understand their strangely cryptic expressions, but ultimately decides it’s not worth it and instead rises from the table. “I’ll… be right back.”

Santana smiles sweetly. “Please, take your time.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, but turns to face the rest of the room anyways and sets off toward the front of the room, where the most people seem to be congregating. Sure enough, it only takes her a minute or two of wading through bodies to find the one she’s looking for, leaning back against a patch of wall beside the jukebox.

Quinn doesn’t say anything when Rachel sees her; she just moves to stand next to her and glances down at the phone in Rachel’s hand. There are suddenly so many words swimming around in her brain, but she decides to start off small. “How’s Ashley?”

Rachel shrugs a little. “She’s sorry she had to leave so soon, and she wants to get coffee this week.”

“Like you need any caffeine in your system,” Quinn jokes, but her tone is weak and she clears her throat. “Are you gonna go?”

She waits a beat before answering. “I don’t see why not.”

Quinn feels like her heart might shatter her ribs, with how hard it’s pounding. “Can I tell you something?” she asks, not that she even has anything coherent prepared, but she at least needs to know if Rachel’s open to talking.

“There’s no need, Quinn,” she replies, so quietly that she’s barely audible over the music.

“I know you’re upset with me, and I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? I understand perf—”

Quinn reaches over before she can overthink it and cups Rachel’s cheeks, pulling her close and pressing their mouths together, and suddenly the bar seems a lot quieter. She ends the kiss sooner than she’d like to, because what if she’s ruined everything and Rachel doesn’t want this anymore, what if she _blew_ it, but doesn’t lower her hands.  “I’m an _idiot_.”

At first Rachel just stares at her, but then her expression cracks into a smile and she leans in so her mouth is right next to Quinn’s ear.  “You’re a lot more than that.”

Now Quinn’s smiling too, and she ghosts the pad of her thumb along Rachel’s cheekbone. “I think really liked kissing you.”

“Yeah?” Rachel breathes.

“Yeah,” Quinn says, nodding, “and I don’t know how serious you are about this other girl, but… I’d _really_ like to kiss you again.”

Rachel grips each of Quinn’s arms and pulls down until their hands are joined, then stands on her tip-toes and presses her lips gently against Quinn’s. “Can I tell you something?” she asks against the corner of Quinn’s mouth.

“Yeah.”

Rachel nibbles her lip, then laces their fingers together. “There is no Ashley.”

Quinn is so enthralled by how Rachel’s hands feel against hers that she assumes she misheard. “What about Ashley?”

“She’s not real,” Rachel says slowly, and she’s having trouble meeting Quinn’s eyes. “We made her up.”

Quinn blinks a few times. “And by ‘we,’ you mean…”

“Santana and Dani,” she replies, then after a small pause: “And me.”

She shifts everything around in her brain for a long moment, thinking about all that’s happened since she got here tonight, all that’s been said, and begins to brush a finger back and forth over Rachel’s knuckle. “I suppose it would be really stupid to ask why.”

“Yes,” Rachel says, her expression completely matter-of-fact, “it would be.”

Quinn tries to suppress a sheepish smile and kisses Rachel again, just to remind herself that she can now… right? “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, “for being weird, and for shutting you out, and for waiting so long to kiss you.”

“All wonderful things to apologize for,” Rachel says before pressing their lips together once more, then holds up her phone. “Would you like to do the honor of informing Ashley, whose number happens to be identical to Dani’s, of our recent developments?”

Quinn thinks about it for a moment but then takes the hand that’s holding the phone and gently lowers it to hip-level. “I say we leave and let them wonder.”

Rachel’s smile droops just a little. “Are you… nervous? About being us around—?”

“No, Rach, I—well, maybe a little nervous. But this is a lot less about that and a lot more about having the apartment to ourselves for an hour.”

She considers Quinn’s response and finally nods, then begins typing a new message on her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling Santana that our romantic impasse has taken a turn for the worst, and that we’re going back to the apartment to further discuss the situation.”

Quinn cocks an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because now we have _two_ hours,” she says simply and begins to pull Quinn through the crowd. “I anticipate that we’ll be using most, if not all of that time. You have a lot of apologizing to do.”

Her heart sinks as guilt once again explodes in her chest, and Rachel must sense the change, because she stops them just inside the front doors.

“I was using a euphemism,” Rachel clarifies. “I’m actually planning to kiss you as much as possible before they get back. We have a lot of time to make up for.”

Quinn feels her skin heat up again, this time for an entirely different reason, and she can’t help but agree about these last few weeks.

But then Santana’s voice is in her head again, and now she’s thinking about months instead.

Who is she kidding, she thinks as they push through the doors and out onto the sidewalk, where their hands stay tightly clasped together.

They’re _years_ behind schedule.


End file.
